Page 32 of Detonation
What the hell were those things infused with?
I try to open my eyes once more and groan when the light glares into them, my heartbeat pulsating with the pounding in my head. Though my eyes strain to close, I force myself to keep them open, needing to see this Sebastian dickhead so I know who I’m dealing with.
I flinch at an icy blue glare staring straight back at me.
Fucking hell. Ever heard of personal space, dude?
Not wanting to be the first one to break the impromptu staring contest, I concentrate on keeping my face neutral, showing him how unphased I am by him.
There’s a smattering of freckles across his milky complexion. Lean muscles bulge under his black shirt and his black hair lays across the top of his head, dipping onto his forehead with a slight wave, the sides cut short. His eyes would be enchanting if they didn’t hold so much malice. He’d probably be very attractive to a woman who saw him passing by on the street.
His eyes narrow but I refuse to show him an ounce of fear. There’s no doubt he’s a dark fae from what I’ve heard, and from my experience, they get off on seeing their victim’s fear. A menacing smirk stretches across his face, his eyes dropping to take in my body. A chill spreads over me, feeling repulsed at his inspection.
"You aren't terrible looking but personally, I don't see what all the fuss is about.” He backs away a breath, looking thoughtful. “Perhaps I'll rough up your face a little. Anshar's infatuation will fade when he sees his prized possession ruined."
“Be my guest, if you want to be castrated by him,” I scoff out.
He reaches out as if to touch my hair and I jerk away from him, the quick motion bringing another wave of nausea over me.
"Tsk, tsk. You're under my control now. You'd be quick to learn that what I want—I take. I don't need permission from anyone."
"I have the backing of a goddess. I don't fear you." My voice comes out like steel. Despite everything, I still believe in Gaia, still trust her support. She has a lot of explaining to do but her love for me is genuine.
A twisted smile appears on his face. "You might want to have a chat with your goddess then and ask her why she allowed you to be captured by your sworn enemy."
He reaches out and this time, I don't flinch away, choosing not to show any emotion. He wraps a few pieces of my hair around his finger, leaning close to whisper, "You'll learn soon enough that there are things not even your goddess can protect you from."
With those words, he drops my hair and straightens, turning and exiting the room in a blur of motion, leaving me reeling. My captor follows, locking the metal grate door behind him.
I scan the room, shocked to see that I’m not alone here.
They’re covered in dirt and grime, some with dried blood crusted on various parts of their body. All of their hair is matted, their eyes almost lifeless, as they stare blankly at the walls.
I zero in on a figure in the corner, a bloodied foot sticking out of a thin blanket. The figure is eerily still. When I see no rise and fall of their body, no sign of breathing, their stillness stirs a panic in me. I may not know these people or why they're here but they’remypeople. My responsibility to protect.
"Hello? Do any of you know if that person is okay? They don't seem to be breathing," I ask in a worried tone, feeling deep in my soul that they need help.
No one responds and I wonder if they’d even be able to.
Left to my own devices, I let my senses spread through the stone floor, much like during my fight with Raven, searching for a heat signal from the body to give me a clue as to whether this person is alive. A very dim glow comes from the ground, signaling that they're fading.
Something in me feels like it’s bursting to come out at the thought of watching someone die before my eyes.No. No more death.
I seethe, furious that no one else in here seems to care. "Why won't any of you answer me? Do you not care what’s happening here? If you don’t care for each other, who the fuck will?"
A redheaded woman, wearing what can only be described as a sack, picks her head up and meets my imploring eyes. There’s dried blood on her chin and a festering wound on her thigh.
She speaks but it’s devoid of any emotion, as if she’s reading lines from a script. “The man that they hung two days ago, he’d been here for nine years. He told me that they’ve kept that man”—she nods to him— “in that corner for as long as he knew. He’s never spoken a word. Occasionally, they remove him from the cell but he’s always wearing the handcuffs like you had when they brought you here."
"Sera! Hush. If they hear you, you'll be next," an elderly woman scolds.
The younger woman rests her head back against the stone wall and sighs, defeated, "It's not like I'll be getting back to my people anyways. Not after fleeing from Anshar. I don't know why he hasn't come back to collect me and finish what he started. Talk about a failed attempt at being a spy."
All the breath in my lungs escapes me and I flounder, my brain short circuiting.
Anshar. He’s here.
What did he do to this poor girl?
